


"Stop petting the test subjects"

by greenleafofmirkwood



Series: tumblr prompts [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aliens, Ceiling Vent Clint Barton, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Fluff, Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 17:04:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6160527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenleafofmirkwood/pseuds/greenleafofmirkwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint still can't handle magic, but it's okay, the team still love him. Especially Tony. Even if he's not admitting it yet.</p><p>(He also adopts a seven foot Asgardian beast and calls it Shelley. Awesome.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Stop petting the test subjects"

**Author's Note:**

> First work for the fandom! It's going to be a series of probably all unrelated works (though sequels are fun) since I found a load of generic prompts on tumblr and thought "holy shit I could totally see Clint in literally all of these situations" so yeah, stay tuned for more Tony/Clint and also Phil/Clint. (Still unsure what tags to use but since it's short I figured I wouldn't go overboard. Hopefully this isn't a mess and someone enjoys it.)

  Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Ex-

 

  With a shuddering breath, Clint slowly turned over onto his back, fighting to keep the air flowing through his lungs. He stared at the metal sheets in front of him, but there was nothing to count or focus on, no marks on the sleek steel, so he shut his eyes again, letting the darkness soothe him. He was safe, everything was black, not that suffocating, electric blue which haunted his dreams. Loki – he shivered at the name – couldn’t hurt him here.

 

  Finally, his breathing began to relax again, pumping heart starting to slow down to normal, and he realised that he’d locked his muscles at some point, and slowly relaxed them, slumping in the narrow metal tunnel that made up one small part of the intricate ventilation system running through Stark – or the Avengers’ – tower.

 

 _Seems to be coping. Nightmares the only lasting psychological damage_. His shortened version of his psych eval from a few months ago ran through his mind and he let out a pained, humourless laugh. _Coping_ , he thought cynically, _if coping is crushing myself into small spaces to convince myself a fucking…alien god won’t find me, then sure_. Clint remembered with an ache in his chest Phil Coulson’s expression the first time he’d found him hiding in the vents, over a decade ago.

 

  _“No one can find me here,”_ he’d said then, but then he’d been talking about medical, the psychiatrists, his first handler (of many), maybe even, in the depths of his mind, his brother and Trickshot. Nothing had changed, not really, no matter how many years he’d been at SHIELD, no matter how much therapy, no matter what; he was still fucked up. He took some comfort in knowing that at least in this tower, _everyone_ was fucked up; PTSD, more PTSD with a healthy dose of brainwashing and daddy issues. That was what held this clusterfuck together. Maybe Phil’s bloody cards had started it all, but that was just the beginning.

 

  If only the public knew that their lives sometimes rested in the hands of a group of people that were barely hanging on to the shreds of sanity - there would be complete uproar. Clint smiled at the thought.

 

  Now his racing heart and sweaty palms had ceased, Clint began making his way to the nest he’d made – one of many – that shouldn’t be far from here. (He should know; he’d memorised these vents within the first month of living here.) He’d been unable to stand being on the helicarrier after everything, so when Tony, and by extension Pepper, extended an offer to the whole team to live in the tower (once it had been renovated), he’d jumped at the chance. Here, no one looked at him like he’d murdered their best friends and colleagues just a few months ago… _which you did_ , a traitorous voice whispered. It sounded too cold, too English, and Clint pushed it away effectively as he reached his nest. No use letting an imprisoned man…God…dude get inside his head from _another realm_.

 

  Which brought him to the issue at hand. Loki himself wasn’t really the issue here, thank fuck – Thor had assured them all, after briefing them of the situation, that he was still locked up deep under Asgard (or something, he wasn’t entirely sure how it worked), but one of his apprentices had been running an experiment, which had apparently gone wrong. While they weren’t needed to deal with the minion himself – some magic person would be dealing with that over in Asgard – they were to be dealing with the consequences of the experiment.

 

  Thor had tried to describe the creatures that had descended from a portal into buttfuck nowhere in the Pacific ocean, with a few inhabited islands getting caught up in the mess, but he’d described those first before moving on to explaining where they’d come from and as soon as his brother’s name had cropped up, Clint had just bolted out of there.

 

  So here he was, having fought off a panic attack, sitting in a slightly larger portion of a ventilation shaft with his face pressed against items of clothing he’d stolen from various team members. (He almost got Fury’s spare eyepatch for one of his nests on the helicarrier, but it turned out the director kept some sort of _security system_ on his goddamn _eyepatch_ , so the man himself arrived before he could take off with it. He looked back on that memory with fondness).

 

  He was just settling down to relax for a bit – maybe read, he had some shitty thriller paperback around here somewhere, and a flashlight – when his StarkPhone began to ring. Sighing, he drew it out of his pocket. He thought it fairly obvious he wasn’t going to be on this assignment, but apparently Natasha had other plans. He answered the phone, knowing he would be worse off if he didn’t, and didn’t greet her, instead sighing long and loud down the phone.

 

  “Barton,” she actually sounded annoyed, and Clint sighed again, but more genuinely this time. “We might need you.”

  “Can’t you do without me just this once?” Clint asked, pressing his face further into a sweatshirt he’d stolen off someone (it smelled faintly like tea and soap, so probably Bruce). He wished his voice didn’t sound so weak, but maybe he wasn’t as over his panic as he’d thought.

  There was silence over the phone for several seconds, before Natasha sighed.

  “Fine,” she replied, “but we’re talking about this,” she said warningly, and Clint nodded, though she couldn’t see him.

  “Yes ma’am,” he said monotonously, and she snorted before hanging up. Clint wished he’d bid her to stay safe, even if the sentiment was kind of lost on a team of people who were voluntarily going up against aliens.

 

  After that, there was just silence. Clint got out his paperback and his flashlight and started to read, telling himself he was fine, Loki couldn’t get to him. But as an hour, two hours, passed, he began to think again. It was true. Loki _couldn’t_ get to him, not here, not in the middle of the pacific. Loki was locked up in a cell and he wasn’t coming out, he wasn’t coming back to make him murder even more people. Clint would have been _fine_.

 

  A horrible sensation started to fill his body, like his organs were just…collapsing. He found he couldn’t concentrate on the book anymore and put it down, feeling more and more lightheaded. He’d just let his team go without him, he wasn’t there to watch their six, he wasn’t there to help, he’d let them down, just because of his _stupid_ aversion to magic stuff. Instead he was sat here like a coward, curled up in a stupid _nest_ , smelling his teammates clothes. With a tremble, he dropped the jumper as well, and burst into action, crawling back through the suddenly suffocating metal tubes, brain conjuring mental images that made his stomach churn and roil.

 

  Cap getting gored by a huge horn. Natasha getting flung into the air by a set of claws. Thor being taken down by a whole group of beasts with terrible eyes and even worse teeth. Bruce…well, very little could get to Bruce while he was big and green, but who knew, with magic? And – his chest seemed to squeeze painfully for a split second at the thought - Tony getting crushed by massive…pincers or something, he didn’t know, because he _wasn’t there_.

 

  Feeling the blood rushing through his head, Clint dropped out of the vent and landed in the main common area for the Avengers to hang out, and leaned over the back of the couch, heart pounding. The living room was as they’d left it, having gone in a hurry, various bits and pieces, books and plates, left lying around. Clint pulled himself over the couch so he was slumped in the cushions. He needed to see, needed to _know-_

 

  “Jarvis,” he blurted, clutching a cushion lying next to him on the couch as he forced himself to take measured breaths. “Bring me Tony’s camera feed? And his mic.,”  
  “Certainly, Agent Barton,” the cool, measured voice replied, and the huge television screen was switched on, revealing the feed from Tony’s helmet.

 

  Tony was obviously high up in the air, and Clint could see the sea peeking through the buildings making up the town they’d focused on. The sound feed was currently quiet, but as Tony rounded a corner, Clint saw the main battle scene unfold.

 

  The creatures Thor had described were sort of like antelope, but seven foot tall at the shoulder, covered with silvery-grey scales, and had razor sharp teeth. As Clint watched, three of them converged on Thor, who was standing sort of in the middle of the scene, and he knocked one flying with a slam of his hammer into its flank. The creatures’ horns, wide rather than tall, looked just as deadly as any other animals’, and Clint watched in horror as a second creature tossed its head, horn slicing his teammate’s bicep.  With an angry roar, Thor caught it under the chin with a second hammer swipe, and suddenly Cap came out of nowhere, throwing himself shield-first at the third beast, felling it neatly. They nodded at each other, with a brief shoulder clap, and moved on.

 

  Iron Man was also moving on, past where the Hulk was punching through some more creatures, to join Natasha. She looked awfully vulnerable, small and slender versus the monsters’ size and bulk, but she was, as usual, dealing with it as effectively as she could. She was perched on a roof, using handguns against the brutal creatures. With a sick feeling, Clint realised she was sort of serving as his substitute; up high, aiming down from afar, and now she spoke to warn the Captain of incoming.

 

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, eyes fixed to the screen, “I’m so sorry I’m not there,”

 

  “I got your back, Widow,” Tony said with his normal blasé tone as he rushed to blast two of the things into a nearby building, and then suddenly a third and fourth were _leaping_ through the air, and holy _shit_ , that was why Tony was so far up, the things could leap up three stories to a balcony that was frankly far too small for them to fit, and were now _climbing_ up the goddamn building. Thankfully Tony was on it but Clint was feeling light headed from worry and guilt and horror, and he closed his eyes briefly.

 

  “Jarvis, stop the feed,” he said quietly, and the AI obligingly ended it, leaving a permeating silence to fill the air, and he took a few deep breaths before starting to head down to the archery range. “Let me know if someone gets badly hurt,” he said as he reached the elevator. “And when they get back,” he added, and punched the floor button viciously. Jarvis’ affirmative was distant, like it was coming from underwater, and Clint leaned against the side of the elevator with a deep breath, before he headed out onto the range.

 

  He lost track of time as he practised. Nock, draw, fire, nock, draw fire, again and again, using the moving range and the moving targets, but with each arrow that hit its target, he was imagining a seven foot horned Asgardian messed-up science experiment…but only imagining. Because as many times as he fired, he wasn’t there to fire at them, wasn’t there to watch his team’s backs, and it was fucking poor repayment after all they’d done for him.

 

  His only consolation was that Jarvis hadn’t given him any injury reports, so the team were at least doing fine without him, but that didn’t quell the nausea onset caused by the guilt of the whole situation.  He imagined them coming back, “victorious after battle” as Thor would say; and they’d see him and glare, ask him what the fuck he was doing, what the fuck was _wrong_ with him, because he couldn’t get past this damn block in his mind.

 

  “Agent Barton,” Jarvis suddenly interrupted his monologue, and Clint reflexively looked up, though he wasn’t really in the ceiling. “The team has returned.”

  “Thanks Jarvis,” Clint breathed, and packed away his bow, heading back for the elevator. When asked, the AI informed him that it was now around seven in the evening, and without prompting, that “Sir” had ordered pizzas for everyone…including Clint himself. Clint didn’t feel like he could stomach the food, but the moment he stepped inside the main area, he forgot about it completely.

 

  All five of them were back, and while he knew everyone was unharmed, it was still a huge relief to see them all – especially, a niggling voice added, Tony – uninjured and generally chilled out. Natasha was sitting delicately on the sofa, but her eyes were fixed on the TV which had started showing some trashy show, with Bruce slumped next to her, eyes closed but not asleep. Thor was booming about something or other to Steve, who looked – well, mildly exasperated really, but that was probably more because of Tony, chattering on his other side about some…science-y…thing.

 

  The scientist looked animated, something about finding out so much just from one small sample, eyes bright and looking unharmed as he waved and gestured tone almost as loud as Thor’s. Tension seemed to seep out of Clint’s muscles, without him even realising he’d _been_ tense, and he shook his head at himself.

 

  He didn’t know when his…thing about Tony had started, but it didn’t look like it was going to _stop_ , so Clint tried to just carry on as normal. Tony had Pepper, who was probably the scariest woman Clint knew (Nat didn’t count, she was an assassin, Pepper’s superpower was _efficiency_ ) and there was no breaking them up. But he pushed these thoughts away firmly before stepping further out of the elevator, and started walking towards them, knot in his stomach twisting and tightening as he went.

 

  “Merida!” Tony spotted him first, monologue cutting off as he beamed, eyes and grin bright, and before Clint knew it he’d taken the last few steps and was hugging him tightly. “Um, hi Clint,” Tony said, sounding caught off guard, and Clint let him go almost immediately, clearing his throat awkwardly.

  “Clint!” Steve was _smiling_ , and Clint couldn’t quite work out what was going on, it was like getting whiplash; having told himself all day that he was going to get Steve’s Disappointed Eyes ™, but the Captain seemed happy to see him.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he managed to get out, voice sounding mildly choked up, but no one commented on it.

  “Hey, it’s cool,” Tony shrugged at him (too casual, why was he so casual, as though it hadn’t mattered), one hand on the small of his back to guide him to the sofa, while Steve followed. “We get it man, it’s tough when that asshole is involved,”

  “No matter how little he has to do with it,” Steve added, nodding in agreement (and wow, those two agreeing, that was a new one). Clint let out a shaky laugh and slumped onto the sofa beside Bruce, with Tony on his other side.

  “But I saw – I was –“ he was finding it hard to think of words, his head a mess of emotions and confusion, but when Tony patted his knee and let his hand rest there, Clint stopped trying and just nodded, idly watching whatever trash Natasha had put on the TV, just for something to do.

 

  Pizza arrived not long afterward, and Clint went to get it – the others were clearly tired, and since he hadn’t been fighting, it was the least he could do. He also poured two mugs of coffee and another two of tea, for him, Tony, Bruce and Natasha respectively, and cautiously sat down, handing Tony his mug last.

 

  “Ahh, my sweet, shining prince,” Tony mock swooned as he took a long gulp, and Clint laughed a little, stomach swooping oddly, but he ignored it, stuffing his face with pizza, unsure what to say. He found he’d been hungrier than he thought, however, and devoured another four slices. Despite the knot still wedged in his stomach, the room had an easygoing air, and it wasn’t long before people began to drop off to sleep. Bruce was first, head lolling almost on Natasha, who looked mildly uncomfortable. She soon announced her retreat, and Clint saw that Steve was yawning, too.

 

 “Go to bed, Tony,” the Captain nudged his other side, and the scientist grunted, but acquiesced, surprising Clint by dragging him up by the elbow as well.

  “You too, Barton,” he grumbled and Clint let out a shaky laugh as the three of them headed to the elevators together, leaving Bruce to snooze on the couch while Thor eagerly continued to watch the television.

  “Night, guys,” Clint said as they arrived at his floor, and when he slumped into the bed, the knot finally eased a little. Maybe it would be okay after all.

 

*  
  
  The next morning found Clint up as early as usual. The first person to be up always alternated between him, Natasha and Steve, and today Steve was already eating pancakes and reading the newspaper (despite the amount of times Tony had tried to convert him to digital). Bruce seemed to have gone to bed in the night, but Thor was still snoring on the sofa, the TV off now, and Clint smiled a little. Tony, he knew, wouldn’t be up until late, because he could go four days without sleep but when he did sleep, it was like the dead.

 

  “Morning, Clint,” Steve smiled and Clint nodded wordlessly, still kind of not alert, but the smell of coffee was rapidly helping. He gulped down a mug and was halfway through his second before he joined Steve in eating, and they sat in silence for a bit.

  “Guess everyone’s exhausted, huh?” Clint finally broke the silence and Steve smiled.

  “Tony’s already up, actually. He’s doing science…things,” Clint had to laugh at Steve’s unsure look, glad that someone understood his lack of science knowledge. He was surprised, though, by the admission, and muttered an excuse to the Captain before going to the elevator, asking Jarvis to take him to the workshop.

 

  When Clint thought of science, it was almost always test tubes and Petri-dishes and other such generic chemistry paraphernalia, because he never did finish high school, and based a lot of things on what he saw on the television. So when he entered the lab/workshop space, he had to stop for a moment and take in what he saw, because he wasn’t entirely sure if _prodding a restrained and probably drugged alien antelope_ was really science.

 

  Tony apparently thought so, because there he was, poking the scales on its body with various different instruments, and even as he watched, the huge creature let out a weird sort of whining cow sound, as if in pain. Cautiously, Clint approached, and raised an eyebrow at the mad scientist.

 

  “So, uh,” he began, and Tony straightened up to look at him with a slightly manic grin. He meant to ask _does SHIELD know you’ve got this thing_ or even _does THOR know you’ve got this thing_ but what came out was, “did you even sleep?”

  “Yeah!” Tony said, waving around a pokey instrument. Clint leaned back out of his reach, eyeing it cautiously, and Tony put it down hastily. “Like, three hours, maybe four,”

  “Tony, you were in _battle_ yesterday,” Clint held his hands out, palm up, as though seeking guidance from above. “You need more than four hours sleep,”

  “You sound like Pepper,” he grumbled and Clint flinched. Sometimes he just… _forgot_ Pepper existed, stupid as that sounded. Sometimes the way he and Tony interacted just made him forget all about Tony’s relationship with his CEO, but when he did, it was like a punch to the stomach.

  “Yeah, well,” he muttered, “someone’s gotta look after you when she’s not around,”

 

  There was a tense silence for a second as Tony froze in place, eyes searching deeply at Clint’s face, mouth slightly open. Clint abruptly thought he looked rather kissable but forced his _he has Pepper he doesn’t want me_ mantra into his head while he waited for the tension to cease, wondering what had even caused it.

 

  “Um, sure, I guess,” he eventually murmured, and turned around, almost in a daze. It was so unlike Tony that Clint narrowed his eyes suspiciously, before wondering if maybe Tony wasn’t used to being looked after, in the same way as Clint wasn’t, and if his admission had surprised him. Suddenly thinking of Tony spending hours down here, in the workshop, doing modifications and additions to everyone’s equipment without sleep or breaks, Clint frowned. Had no one come down here to check up on him before?

 

  “Hey, stop petting the test subject,” Tony brought him out of his thoughts and Clint glanced down to see he’d been vaguely patting at the scales on the shoulder of the beast. It seemed pretty relaxed though, so he shrugged and kept going.

  “You didn’t say Simon says,” he said blandly and Tony laughed, going back to his experiments. But Clint continued stroking the gigantic Asgardian thing, now perched on the edge of the workbench, watching Tony take blood samples and tissue samples and brush some loose scales off for testing, before he called Bruce down.

 

  “Tony,” Bruce sighed, eyeing the thing Clint was stroking and Tony pouted.

  “Hey, I sedated it, and it likes Clint, we’re all good here,” he assured. Bruce didn’t seem convinced but helped Tony run tests on the samples anyway, and Clint idly listened to them talk science while his own thoughts spiralled around his brain.

 

  He was still unsettled from the stress of yesterday, though that knot in his stomach was dissipating slowly. What took up most of his thoughts, was that though Pepper was efficient, fierce and a very effective Tony-wrangler, she was also the CEO of one of the biggest industries in the world, thus had less time than she (and, privately, Clint) would like to take care of a certain mad genius. By the looks of the minibar in the corner of the room, fully stocked with the strong stuff, and the squashy looking sofa near it, Tony spent a lot of nights drinking down here as he worked, and also sleeping down here.

 

  _Goddamnit, you’re Hawkeye,_ he scowled at the floor, _how the hell did you not spot this?_ It was literally his _job_ to notice things and yet, while he knew Tony spent a lot of time in the lab, he’d never thought of it as a problem before – but he guessed it was. A growl of his stomach brought his attention to the time, since it was early afternoon, thus time to eat.

 

  “Hey, nerds,” he said, giving the creature (he really needed to learn what they were called) a last pat before hopping off the workbench. “Less science, more food,” 

 

  He approached the two of them when it became apparent it was going to be a “five more minutes” conversation, and gently placed a hand on each of their backs before steering them toward the elevator. “Come on, lunch time,” he said, and waved at the Asgardian creature one last time as the elevator doors shut.

  “Monitor the alien, Jarvis,” Tony said, receiving an affirmative from the AI, and they went into the kitchen area.

 

  Thor was already there cooking, and while logically Clint knew Steve must have left at some point, it didn’t look like he had, since he was sitting in the same spot. He seemed to be squinting at a StarkPhone instead of a newspaper, though, and Clint idly wondered what the super soldier was trying to do. He decided not to ask.

 

  “Mm, smells good,” Tony hovered over Thor’s food. “Enough for everyone, it seems,”

  “Of course, friend Anthony!” Thor replied cheerfully. “I cook for all my shield brothers,”

 

  Appeased, Tony sat in the swivelly stool beside Steve at the breakfast bar, and Clint wondered vaguely where Natasha was. As though reading his thoughts, Tony suddenly glanced around the room, eyeing the shadows suspiciously.

  “Where’s the scary spider lady at?” he asked, still peering nervously over his shoulder, and Clint laughed despite himself.

  “Eh, around,” he replied vaguely and Tony eyed him instead.

  “You goddamn spy types, always creeping me out,” he said, and Clint laughed again, sitting opposite Tony at the breakfast bar.

  “I believe Agent Romanoff is currently in her floor, reading,” Jarvis had his own input, and Clint arched an eyebrow.

  “If she ever finds out you asked Jarvis to spy on her, she’ll hurt you,” he said idly, and Tony instantly ordered Jarvis to remind him not to spy on her.

 

  This kind of banter was nice, Clint thought as Thor served five heaped plates of his food and placed them in front of them. It was rare that more than three of the Avengers were in the same room at any one time, since they all liked doing their own thing, but when they were, it brought a sort of camaraderie and sense of family that Clint had missed from other teams (Strike Team Delta not withstanding but with Phil gone that was…irrelevant.)

 

  “Hey, Thor, what are those things called that we fought yesterday?” Tony cut through the easy silence that had fallen while everyone shovelled food into their mouths.

  “Those mighty beasts are known on Asgard as Shelkort,” the God replied (it was weird talking about him as a god when he was wearing jeans and a Henley, but whatever). “Why do you ask?”

  “Well, you know, Clint’s friends with the one I have in my lab so I was wondering-“

  “ _What_?!” Steve interrupted and Clint winced. He really didn’t want to be involved with this, but he supposed the two of them had been keeping nice for too long. An argument was bound to happen sooner or later.

  “Yeah, I took one from the SHIELD transport when no one was looking, they’ve been freaking out for ages,” Tony sounded amused and Clint bit back a sigh, but couldn’t stop the fond smile from emerging. He quickly stuffed more food in his mouth before anyone noticed.

 

  Steve looked like he was about to have an aneurysm, but was stopped from replying when Thor answered for him.

  “The Shelkort are very dangerous,” he said, a grave look on his face. “You must make sure it is contained well at once,”

  “Nah it’s fine, I gave it sedatives and Jarvis is keeping an eye on it. Also I think it’s made friends with Clint,”

 

  At those words, Steve turned back to look at Clint, who shrugged.

  “I had nothing to do with it, this batch of crazy is all him,” he pointed his fork at Tony, who looked smug, and unable to help himself, Clint shared a smile. He quickly looked away at the others’ sideways glances, and soon enough he’d finished eating and announced he was going to practise at the range.

 

  He ended up sparring with Steve, which was always equal parts painful and fun – it was hard to hurt a super soldier so there was no need to hold back, but Steve often forgot that he _did_ have to hold back. The bruises were kinda worth it though considering his hand-to-hand skill had hugely increased since he’d been living here.

 

  Once he and Steve were done sparring, Clint hit the showers and took a while to breathe and think. The knot in his stomach from yesterday had all but disappeared and he started to wonder if it was okay to still be a little messed up. No one had given him shit for it and everyone had been supportive, so while he did need to buck up his courage against anything magic-related, he didn’t need to freak out so much about anyone else being disappointed or angry with him for it.

 

  That in mind, he got out of the shower and dressed efficiently, before leaving his room to get a snack. As soon as the elevator doors opened, though, he stared in shock and some horror – Pepper and Tony’s bodyguard person, Clint forgot his name, were standing by the counter _kissing_. Not particularly scandalous unless you counted the fact that Pepper was supposed to be doing that with _Tony_.

 

  He shut the doors almost immediately. Neither of them had noticed him – it wasn’t like they’d been wrapped up in passion, but they were still fairly distracted anyway. As the doors closed on them, Clint felt a surge of disappointed anger, even as he directed Jarvis to take him to wherever Tony was (the workshop/lab, of course). Pepper was – had seemed – a lovely woman, efficient and clever and doting on Tony, who in turn adored her back.

 

  Clint had seen them around each other, the way they seemed to fit together perfectly. And here she was, throwing away her relationship with him for some generic bodyguard dude; how could she be so stupid? Worked up now, Clint stormed into the lab and located Tony instantly, frowning at some tiny contraption he held in his hand above the workshop bench.

 

  “Tony!” Clint called, coming to stand next to him, and Tony turned around, smiling brightly. It made Clint’s chest hurt, knowing he was about to break that smile, but he took a breath and pushed on before Tony could reply. “That – bodyguard guy, what’s his name, the one that Natasha floored while he was trying to teach her how to box – “

  “Happy?”

  “What?”  
  “That’s his name, Happy,” Tony said, now looking a bit confused at the urgency in Clint’s voice.

  “Oh – okay – anyway he and Pepper, they were kissing in the kitchen,” he got out in one breath, hands twitching in an effort not to clench them in anger.

 

  Tony sort of stared at him for a minute, eyebrows slightly furrowed as he took in what Clint just said. Any minute now…

  “Pepper and Happy,” Tony said slowly, like he hadn’t heard, and Clint nodded, lips pressed in a thin line.

  “I’m – I’m sorry, I thought I should tell you, I didn’t want to meddle but I just-“

  “Wait, that’s it? That’s all you had to tell me?” Tony put down the thing he’d been working on and stepped a bit closer. “I don’t know about you, bird-brain, but I don’t think Pepper and Happy kissing is exactly headline news,”

  “I – what?” Clint was baffled, and Tony looked just as confused. Was Tony not upset? Another thought came just as quickly – did the three of them have some sort of _arrangement_?

  “Pepper and Happy are together, Barton,” Tony said, now looking a bit amused as he spoke like he was talking to a child. Clint’s mouth dropped open a bit and he shook his head.

  “But I thought…you and Pepper? Nat said-“

  “Nooo,” Tony waved his hands in a slicing motion, as though cutting that thread. “Nope, nope, nope, been there, done that, never again, too awkward,” he replied. When Clint still looked lost, he sighed and elaborated.

 

  “Pepper and I are like…soul mates, I guess you could say. She deals with my bullshit, I help her unwind as much as I can, she runs my company while I save the world, et cetera,” Tony leaned his hip against the workbench while Clint’s mind rapidly adjusted to this new world view. “We’re compatible but not romantically. We tried. Didn’t go so well,” he mimed an airplane crashing, making the noises and everything. Clint briefly shut his eyes and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

 

  “I can’t believe it,” he said, and he really couldn’t – he’d spent the last few months pining over a man that he’d believed was in the most committed relationship someone could have, and now he was finding out he’d been single this entire time. Thanks, life. “This entire time I thought you guys were, like, married, what the fuck,” Clint brushed a hand through his hair and Tony was smiling, but he didn’t seem like he was laughing _at_ Clint (he hoped, at least).

 

  “Nope,” Tony popped the ‘p’, turning back to his work. “It’s cute that you were so worried, though,” he added with a smug look and Clint made protesting squawking noises.

  “Hey, I was just worried about a friend, okay, you don’t deserve that,” he replied seriously, and Tony grinned but didn’t reply, now focused back on his work. Unsure what to do, Clint thought about leaving, not wanting to get into Tony’s hair while he worked, but he liked sitting down here as he tinkered, going into in-depth conversations about literally _anything_. Tony was the same level of weird and sarcastic as Clint, and it was fantastic.

 

  His internal debate was resolved, though, as a sudden noise came from a separate part of the workshop, and to Clint’s astonishment, the Shelkort Tony had been testing yesterday ambled in casually, somehow managing to avoid knocking things over as he came to a stop beside Clint. The archer stared at it blankly before shrugging and perching on a workbench Tony wasn’t using, a couple of feet away from the man himself, and absent-mindedly began petting it, turning back to watch the billionaire as he muttered and swore.

 

  He’d never really allowed himself to stare this much. He wasn’t sure how much of the rest of the world Tony tuned out when in an “engineering” mood, but he couldn’t risk it and have him notice it; he wouldn’t hear the end of it. But now, despite knowing that these facts were still the same, there wasn’t _Pepper_ to worry about, so Clint found himself analysing every detail hungrily in a way he hadn’t before.

 

  The way his nimble fingers dextrously took apart and fiddled with the small piece of machinery, the way his forearms flexed as he lifted larger pieces to attach the smaller ones to. The way his dark brown eyes stared piercingly at whatever he was doing at the time, the quirks of his lips and the mutters of approval or frustration. The way he scratched absently at his short, dark hair or rubbed the arc reactor, which glowed blue under his shirt. He stared, unabashed, and just _appreciated_ him as he moved and worked fluidly, at one with the tech.

 

  God, he really liked this man.

 

“I’m calling it Shelley,” Clint surprised _himself_ at the admission, but kept going as Tony glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “I can’t keeping calling her ‘it’ in my head, so her name’s Shelley,”

  “How do you know it’s female? Been feeling around under there?” he proceeded to wiggle both eyebrows, and Clint rolled his eyes as their familiar interaction settled in. “In fact, what if they don’t have male and female in their species. What if it’s something else? Hey, we should do tests-“

  “No, her name is Shelley,” Clint replied stubbornly, and patted her head affectionately. “You reckon Fury will let me keep her?”

  “I’d like to see him take her off you,” Tony shrugged and Clint laughed, enjoying the mental image as Tony focused back on his work.

 

  After an undeterminable amount of time, Tony finally put down the electronic thing-a-me-whatsit in his hands and wiped the grease smearing his fingers onto his jeans, grinning smugly at the piece. Clint wasn’t sure if it was finished or not, but it appeared to be going well, whatever it was. He was just about to open his mouth to ask what it was, when the words died in his throat as Tony stepped in front of him, neatly sliding in between his knees.

 

  The hand that had been petting Shelley froze to a stop and she made a noise, but he ignored her, eyes fixed on Tony’s coffee coloured ones. They were staring intensely up into his own as he gently placed his hands on Clint’s thighs, and his breathing became short, heart thumping energetically as the tension thickened between them.

 

  “You could barely keep your eyes off me, could you?” Tony broke the silence, voice low and intimate, sending a shiver down Clint’s spine. “I saw you looking, Hawkeye,” he said, lips curling into a smug smirk, and Clint unconsciously dampened his lips with his tongue, followed by a thrill as he noticed Tony’s eyes track the movement. “Now you know I’m not off limits, you’re looking your fill,” he continued, and Clint slowly slid off the workbench so they were standing in front of each other, pressed almost chest to chest. Tony’s light touch on his thighs had slipped up to rest just below his hips with the movement, and he could feel his fingers burning through his jeans.

 

  “So what?” Clint’s voice was rough as his own lips twitched into a smirk. “Like you don’t stare at my arms an unhealthy amount,” he replied. He’d never actually caught Tony doing it, but the way his eyes flickered in admission made him grin. Jackpot.

  “Who could blame me?” Tony replied, hands ghosting up his arms now, and Clint’s hands found themselves on his waist.

  “I can’t believe I thought you were married to Pepper,” Clint rolled his eyes at himself, before breaking this stupid tension and leaning forwards to press their lips together.

 

  Tony tasted like he smelled; of coffee and whiskey and warm and comforting. His lips slid easily over Clint’s, a well-practised tongue brushing his as one hand made it to his blond hair, the other on the small of his back. Clint made a soft sound into the kiss and tightened his own grip on Tony’s waist, heat rushing through his body as Tony pressed him back into the work bench, his kiss turning slowly deeper and more thorough.

 

  They broke apart gasping and Clint kept pressing small, light kisses to Tony’s now-swollen lips, unable to stop a delighted grin spreading across his face as Tony’s hand smoothed up and down his back, the other slipping to get a quick brush of his abs. Clint raised an eyebrow and Tony shrugged.

  “Who could blame me?” he said again and Clint laughed, head tilting back, and it slowly turned into a moan and Tony rubbed his exposed neck with his chin, goatee stroking deliciously down the column of his throat.

  “God, Tony,” he gasped as Tony’s teeth sank into his shoulder and he pushed his hips forwards, delighted at the gasp it elicited from the genius.

  “Mmm, keep doing that,” and then they were kissing again, slowly rolling their hips together, Clint now tugging Tony’s short hair, finding that it was a _really_ fun spot for him. He was just about to suggest moving along with proceedings when a loud crash made them both flinch, and they both turned to the source of the noise.

 

  Shelley had wandered off as they explored their new territory, doing some exploring of her own. She had apparently knocked into one of Tony’s robots as she walked and it was now lying on the floor, making noises, and Clint couldn’t stifle his laugh at how pathetic it looked.

 

  “I better fix that,” Tony sighed and Clint pressed an affectionate kiss to his cheek. “You, train your pet better,” he added and Clint laughed again, biting back the whine that almost escaped as Tony stepped away.

  “We’ll continue this later?” Clint asked as they rounded up their pets, and Tony grinned, all teeth.

  “Oh, you bet we will. And I’m taking you to dinner after,” he added, and Clint laughed. 

  “Isn’t that a bit backwards?” he asked and Tony shrugged as he set his robot upright, while Clint stroked Shelley’s nose.

  “Aren’t _we_ a bit backwards?” he replied.

 

  Clint thought about it for a second and had to concede the point. But, he reasoned, admiring Tony’s ass as he walked back to his workstation, it was really, _really_ okay with him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, yeah, hopefully the continuity was okay. I'm still learning how to write these two! Stay tuned for more of them, and also some Phil/Clint, in the future. Comments are much appreciated!
> 
> [This is the post](http://toxixpumpkin.tumblr.com/post/108022477839/ridiculous-sentence-prompts/) I'll be using to write future fics, and [this is my blog](http://hogwarts-in-the-shire.tumblr.com/) in case anyone wants to ask for anything in particular (even if it's just the next fic you want me to write from the post!)
> 
> Thanks for reading :D


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